


See the Night Through

by AudreyV



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Awkwardness, Cats, Crushes, Cute, Drunkenness, F/F, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Morning After, One Night Stands, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 22:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10750857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyV/pseuds/AudreyV
Summary: Laurel has rules for one-night stands. She doesn't go back to their place. She doesn't let them spend the night at hers. And she definitely doesn't wake up the next morning to a staring contest with their very angry cat.Spoilers through 3x15.





	See the Night Through

**Author's Note:**

> A very sweet Tumblr anon messaged to say they miss my fanfic. That kind of thing is super motivating, so I dusted this off. It's been sitting almost-finished for months so I figured I'd put my nose to the grindstone and give y'all some content. This is unbetaed so blame me for all the mistakes. ;)
> 
> I started this back in January after my beloved cat passed away. I expected this to be way more angsty but I'm a little bit "walking on air" over a girl right now so it turned out sweet rather than tragic.

Laurel woke up to light streaming through the window. She stretched and her hand knocked into something warm and soft.

She froze. The ceiling looked like any other ceiling but beyond its generic white paint and modern lighting fixture, it wasn’t familiar. The dark blue sheets and fluffy comforter weren’t hers either. She tried to sit up but a wave of pain pounded through her head and she slumped back against the pillow.

She remembered the bar. She was there most nights, had been for almost five months, since Wes died and she decided she couldn't have the baby. It wasn't fair to inflict her genes and situation on an innocent, no matter how much she wanted a part of him to live on somehow. Wes more than anyone wouldn't have wanted his child to suffer, growing up with a crazy mother who was constantly waiting for the police to haul her away. (Laurel also couldn't quiet the voice inside her that whispered there was a chance the kid was Frank’s. It was unlikely, but at the time, with Frank in jail for Wes’s murder, no one could blame her for not wanting to tie herself to him for life.)

So she'd been drunk enough go home with a stranger. It wasn’t a big deal. She’d always considered herself sexually liberated, but these bleary nights were happening much more frequently than she’d admit to her therapist.

The unusual part was that she’d stayed over at some random’s place. Usually Laurel took conquests home with her, so she could control when the encounter ended. (She never let them stay over, just got what she wanted and tossed them out. Sexually liberated—or an asshole as one of them called her. Didn’t matter. She slept alone.)

Laurel rubbed her eyes and remembered kissing, messy chaotic making out, feeling oddly nervous, fumbling with keys, fumbling with clothes, a breathless woman‘s voice saying her name.

(She didn't really consider herself bisexual. She fucked women in college but never dated one. Her recent one night stands had been a range of ages, genders, races, body types. It wasn't about them. It was about feeling something, anything for a moment. She could do that just as easily between a chubby waitresses’s thighs as she could under a distinguished professor type old enough to be her father.)

She was about to turn her head to look at her bedmate when she realized she was being watched. Not by the snoring woman beside her, but by a large, bedraggled cat who was perched above her pillow.

They stared at each other. The cat was an odd mix of brown, black and orange, with patches of white. Its markings made it look like it was scowling, with two harsh black lines on its brow ridges. Its fur was starting to go grey in places and it had one fang that protruded even though its mouth was closed.

“Mrrrrrrrrwwww.” The cat growled low in its throat, yellow eyes fixed on her.

Yet another reason to insist hookups happen at her place. No homicidal felines.

“Nice kitty,” Laurel said softly. She turned over slowly.

The sleeping woman was turned away and buried beneath the comforter, with only the back of her head and neck exposed. Her hair was short and blonde, mussed up in a classic “power lesbian morning-after” look. Her skin was pale, but she had a few freckles, and unlike the room, there was definitely something familiar about her.

Laurel froze, her stomach sent reeling by a suspicion she desperately hoped was wrong. She sat up just enough to see the side of the blonde’s face, just to reassure herself it wasn’t…

Fuck.

 

Laurel was at the bar, half drunk already when Bonnie called to ask if she'd finished the research for the case they were working on. Not long after a familiar form slid onto the barstool next to her and ordered a bourbon.

“Just bourbon?” Leanna the bartender asked skeptically. (Laurel liked Leanna. She didn't judge, even when she gently cut Laurel off. Sometimes after her shift the two of them would do shots and talk about the world. Leanna never said a word about who she went home with either, except once when she said “hey, hang out while I close up?” and explained later Laurel's man of the night was bad news.)

“Bourbon. A double. In a glass. And from here on out hers go on my tab.”

Leanna raised an eyebrow but smiled.

“Sure thing, sweetheart. You ready for another Paloma, Laurel?” she asked.

“Always.”

Bonnie sat next to Laurel, saying nothing. They watched Leanna make the drinks and place them on the bar.

“The bartender knows your name,” Bonnie noted.

“That's Leanna. I think we might be friends. Friends-ish.”

“That's good. Friends are important.”

“That why you're here? You wanna be friends?”

“We aren't already?” Bonnie leaned an elbow on the dark oak bar and raised her drink. “To friendship?”

“To friendship,” Laurel agreed warily as they clinked glasses.

“So… how are things?”

“Well, six months ago my boyfriend died, I almost died, I had an abortion, and my dad disowned me.I've spent pretty much every night since then right here. So, you know. Awesome as usual, and no, I don't want to talk about it.”

“I didn't know that about your dad,” Bonnie said quietly.

“Doesn’t matter. Money was the only thing he was ever good at and I have full access to my trust fund now, so I don't need him anymore.” Laurel shrugged like she didn’t care. “How's work?”

“Not enough clients to keep things interesting, even though they're covering the bills again. Your spot’s still open, whenever you're ready to come back.”

“I'm surprised Annalise is being so understanding.”

“I insisted. It's the least we can do.”

Laurel spun one of her rings, fiddled with it as they drank in silence.

“How is she?” Laurel finally asked.

“She's frustrated and bored and that makes her dangerous,” Bonnie said flatly. “Let’s not talk about it.”

“So we’re not going to talk about Annalise, Wes or the fire?”

“Let’s add you almost dying, the abortion and your dad disowning you, unless you’ve got a burning desire to share,” Bonnie replied, with a slight undercurrent of humor in her voice.

“I don’t,” Laurel said. “Your dad dying?”

“Pass. How you feel about Frank these days?”

“Pass. Why your dad was in jail in Coalport in the first place?” Laurel asked gently.

“Hard pass.” Bonnie’s eyes settled on Laurel. “You sounded a little out of it on the phone,” she said finally.

Laurel felt the change of topic, cold and hard against her like steel.Maybe sober she would have pushed harder, but drunk she let herself be redirected.

“So you're checking up on me.”

“Partly. I also had a crappy day and a drink seemed like a good idea.” Bonnie tapped her fingertips on the glass and swiveled it on the bar.

“What made it crappy?” Laurel asked.

“Let's not talk about that.”

“What do you want to talk about then?”

Bonnie was silent for a moment, then shrugged.

“Tell me about the last book you read.”

 

“I just didn't think you were that kind of girl!” Laurel exclaimed. Bonnie, whose cheeks were already flushed bright red from several hours of drinking, covered her face with the palms of her hands.

“I can't believe I told you that,” she mumbled through her fingers.

“I mean… I did ask you what the worst book you ever read was. And that one… I mean, ‘inner goddess’? Stalkery boyfriend? Has a vaginal orgasm the first time she ever has sex? Fucking ridiculous.” Laurel shook her head. “Did you make it through the whole thing?”

“Of course.” Bonnie’s eyes narrowed. “You're telling me you'd start a book but not finish it?!”

“Yeah! If it's bad. Life's too short.”

“Maybe I'm just stubborn, but if I start something, I do whatever I can to finish it.”

“You are stubborn,” Laurel said with a grin. “And maybe you're lying.”

“I swear I finished it.”

“Nah maybe you’re lying and you actually liked it. Maybe you’re the kind of girl who’d be really into having a man tie you up and fuck you.” She paused, lips curving up, eyes lingering too long. “Or a woman.”

Bonnie glared, but before she could respond Leanna returned.

“Either of you feel like doing a shot with me?” Leanna asked.

“I will,” Bonnie said. “Seems like I still have some catching up to do.”

“You’ll need more than one shot to catch her,” Leanna said pleasantly. “Whiskey?”

“Sure.”

“Laurel?”

“I’m good.”

Laurel watched the two of them clink glasses and tap them on the bar before taking the shots. She noted Bonnie’s easy smile and the way her fingers brushed Leanna’s when she handed the empty glass back.

“You like her,” she mused as soon as Leanna was out of earshot.

“She's nice enough.”

“I mean in a sexual way.” Laurel watched Bonnie’s face, but even after several rounds it was unreadable. Not blank, just effortlessly opaque.

“I'm not into women.”

A wicked smile flickered across Laurel’s face. She shifted, brought her mouth close to Bonnie’s ear, deftly turned the tables.

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

Laurel knew Bonnie regularly went toe-to-toe with people who were much better manipulators. She wouldn’t turn sweet and pliable with so little effort, but Laurel had other tricks up her sleeve.

“Believe it or not, it’s the truth,” Bonnie said evenly.

“But… Annalise?”

Bonnie’s eyes snapped up and caught Laurel’s, held them as everything stopped for a second, time, the lurching of the world as Laurel tried to make her eyes focus. They stared at each other, Laurel waiting patiently for Bonnie to come up with one of a dozen different potential responses, all of which would have been lies.

“Annalise is an exception,” came the truth.

Blue eyes flashed and Laurel’s hand came up, drifted fingertips down Bonnie’s cheek and along her jawline.

“I’m an exception too.”

 

Slowly, Laurel moved toward the edge of the bed. She could see her sweater and her underwear on the floor, so hopefully the rest would be close by.

“Mrrrreeeooooooooww.”

Laurel froze and looked up at the cat, who was looming closer and looked considerably angrier. She tried to shift away, slower this time, freezing again when the cat hissed.

They stared. Laurel put her head back down on the pillow and the cat relaxed.

It took three tries before Laurel was forced to admit defeat. The cat would calm down whenever she laid still in the bed but growl when she tried to move. She couldn't escape without help.

“Uhhh… Bonnie?”

“Hrump.” The mound of blankets shifted.

“I think your cat hates me.”

“Wha color?”

“The cat?”

“Mmph.”

“Sort of brown and orange and black?”

“Don't worry. Ginsberg’s much friendlier than she looks.” Bonnie mumbled.

“As in Ruth Bader?”

“Mm.”

“So there are more cats?”

“Grey. Soto. As in—”

“Sotomeyer.”

Bonnie rolled to face Laurel. “She's a lot less friendly than she looks.”

“I didn't think you were a cat person.”

“I'm not. They came with the house.”

“What?” Laurel asked.

“The people I bought the house from left them here. I found Ginsberg under the bathroom sink and Soto was in the coat closet.”

“Why did you keep them?”

“I told you,” Bonnie replied as she stroked Ginsberg’s face. “They came with the house.”

“‘Most people would call animal control or take them to a shelter.”

“Would you?”

“I don't know. Probably?”

Two pairs of eyes glared at her, one yellow, one deep brown.

“C’mere Ginsberg.” Bonnie lifted up the comforter so the cat could burrow down in between them. “She didn't mean that.”

“You're a cat person.”

“Well, I guess you learned a lot about me in the past 24 hours.”

“Right. I, uh… we were both pretty wasted.”

“It's not a big deal, Laurel.”

“We got really drunk and had sex last night.”

“We did. Great sex,” Bonnie added.

“How can you be so casual about this?”

“This isn't my first time waking up naked with someone I work with, and we both know it isn't yours either.”

“Oh god.” Laurel shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead in an attempt to stave off both the thought and the looming headache. “Frank.”

“Yes, this may make Frank’s brain explode. I’ll try to feel bad about that when I’m actually awake.” Bonnie paused and thought about it for a moment. “I won't be able to, because this is hilarious. But I’ll make an attempt.”

Laurel watched Bonnie’s eyes start drift shut again. Under the blanket, she felt a furry paw feel around before settling on her hip.

“Uh, Bonnie?”

“Hm?”

“Ginsberg is touching me.”

“And?”

“She's also growling.”

“That's how she shows affection.”

Laurel turned her head toward Bonnie, who was watching her.

“If you want to go, you can go,” Bonnie said quietly. “She sounds like she's going to rip you to shreds if you move, but it's just that she vocalizes inappropriately. I can hold her while you escape.”

Something about the way Bonnie said “escape”— with none of the flippant bravado of the rest of the conversation— made Laurel’s heart hurt. She felt Ginsberg start to knead her thigh with both paws, claws denting her skin but not breaking it.

“I did learn a lot about you in the past 24 hours,” Laurel said gently.

“I said that already.”

“Yeah, but not just that you like cats and don’t usually sleep with women. I think maybe I’m on my way to figuring you out.”

Bonnie’s skepticism was plain in the look she gave Laurel, but she shrugged and said, “Tell me what you think you’ve learned.”

“You act really tough but you’ve got a soft spot for people and animals who don’t have anybody else.” Laurel smiled as Ginsberg curled up against her. “Like Ginsberg, and me. You’re braver when you’ve had a few drinks, and you laugh a lot more then too. I can tell you’re sentimental from that mirror and the glass perfume bottles on the dresser. Everything else in this house screams Pottery Barn but those are old, probably something you inherited.” Laurel paused and glanced around the room. “You’ve got pictures of you and Frank, you and Annalise, but none of your family or you as a kid, so either you lost them all in a fire or you’d rather not remember that part of your life. I’m guessing the latter, considering…”

“Considering what?” Bonnie asked in a weary, low voice, rolling over onto her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“Considering the way you try to pretend your body isn’t criss-crossed with no fly zones.”

“If this is what you consider pillow talk, you suck at it.” Bonnie said flatly. “Anything else?”

“Yeah. You like me.”

Bonnie rolled over to face Laurel. “Not even a little bit,” she said.

“No, you do. That’s why you showed up at the bar to check on me. Why you let me… Why I was an exception.” Laurel pressed her lips together and studied Bonnie’s face. (Still unreadable, perfectly neutral even though Laurel could feel something pulsing underneath the stillness.) “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bonnie said.She sat up and reached for her top, quickly pulling it on.“Look, last night was fun, but it’s almost 10AM and I’ve got—“

“You're just like Ginsberg.”

Bonnie's eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“You want affection but you end up growling at people instead.”

“Ugh, can the psychoanalysis wait until I'm awake and wearing underwear?” Bonnie sighed. Her face softened and her voice dropped low. “Okay, fine. Yes. I like you. You dragged it out of me. Happy?”

Laurel thought for a moment, then reached under the covers and hauled Ginsberg out. They stared at each other, then Laurel scratched under her chin.

“This is a good sound?” she asked as the cat made low noises deep in her chest.

“It is.”

“Good.” Laurel lifted the blanket up and put Ginsburg under it on the other side of her body, then she moved closer to Bonnie, who she tugged back down to the pillow.

“Don’t,” Bonnie protested, even as she let herself be pulled into Laurel’s arms. “I’m fine. You asked, I answered, we can’t un-know it so the best thing to do is move on.” 

“I think—“

“You get dressed, go home, and we’ll pretend this never happened. It’s better for everyone that way.”

“Bonnie.”

“What?”

“Stop growling at me.” Laurel watched Bonnie shrink a little, eyes wide and brow furrowed.

“I don’t know how to do anything else,” Bonnie replied after a long silence. “This is what I do.”

Laurel caressed Bonnie’s cheek with her hand, pleased when Bonnie leaned into the touch.

“So make an exception.”


End file.
